


Retaliation

by redheadgirl



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, old school traditions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-11-12 07:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgirl/pseuds/redheadgirl
Summary: Ginny faces off with a former teammate, and former tormentor, from the minor leagues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ginny tells it like it is](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9850547) by [redheadgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgirl/pseuds/redheadgirl). 



> This is a year in the future. Ginny is fully recovered from her broken arm and back to starting for the Padres.
> 
> This story was in a different fan fic of mine. It fits better as a stand alone than chapter in a long story.

 

                Of course it was her turn in the rotation when they were in New York facing the Yankees for interleague play. She didn’t have enough good luck to avoid pitching in the four game series. She had played in New York before against the Mets. New York was a rough place to play. The fans were especially obnoxious; not the Philli’s level of rude, but definitely in the top three. The first time through had been a wash for her. Some of the fans cheered, some of them sunk to new lows in insults and general asshole-ishness, and most just didn’t care either way.

                This trip was different. She had two days to dread her start. She wasn’t afraid, but she also wasn’t stupid. She knew damn well who she would be pitching against and that’s where the problem began and ended.

                Chad Johnson. She had played with him for half a season in San Antonio and he was one of the three had gone out of their way to make her life hell. He had taken a cheap shot when they were fighting in the clubhouse and it had taken everything she had in her to not show how terribly her stomach hurt for two weeks after that punch. Now, because she must have angered the baseball gods, she had to face off against him head to head in the next game. And that meant she would have to bat against him. Normally interleague play followed the rules for the home team’s league, but due to a freak pipe burst at Petco, her game was considered a makeup home game for the Padres. Padres’ game means national league rules, which means pitchers bat.

                She refused to let him psych her out. Maybe he had grown up when he was traded to the Yankees. Maybe it was an utter fluke that he had a reputation as a hot head and instigator and maybe the league was being unreasonable when it suspended him for three games for throwing behind a batter after being warned, which lead to a bench clearing shoving match.

                And maybe she just needed to keep her head in the game. So she focused hard on fine tuning her cutter (Livan loved it, Mike not so much) and memorizing every player’s heat maps. She didn’t go out with the team at night, instead staying in her room and trying to relax. Meditation didn’t work, but wine, a hot bath and a good book did.

                When she took the mound for her start, the fan reception was about what she expected, a combination of little girls cheering and grown men booing. The novelty value of her pitching was wearing off her second year in the league, so it was just standard Yankee-style booing, no more misogynist than any other pitcher faced, although with perhaps more insulting names directed towards her.

                She cruised through her first two innings. All of the intense focus and time she had put in was paying off and even Mike gave her one of the chin bobs that he saved for acknowledging a good game. She was able to ignore the specter of batting the first inning, but in the second inning the Padres’ started hitting well off of Johnson. In quick order there were runners on first and second and Ginny was up to bat with no outs. A pitcher was expected to bunt about 80% of the time they actually had to bat but with the slower runners on the bags, Skip was letting her swing for contact and try to get it out of the infield to drive in a run. She hadn’t had a single RBI all season, and it would be nice to have just one to shut the boys up. It would just be a bonus that an RBI might help her win the game.

                When her name was announced Ginny calmly walked to the batter’s box when what she felt like doing was running screaming back to the bus. Not that she would do that. She had faced worse than this and she’d be damned if she gave up her life’s work because she was afraid to face this asshole.

                “Hey Baker,” the catcher said. “How you liking New York?”

                “Hey Garcia,” she returned. “Great food, but your fans are jerks.”

                Instead of being offended, the veteran catcher chuckled. “You aren’t wrong.”

                She glanced down at him as he settled into his stance. “I’ll buy you a drink after the game if you have any really good Lawson stories to share.”

                He shot her a look. “You’re asking me to betray a fellow veteran catcher?”

                Ginny dug her back foot in the dirt and took a practice swing. “No, I’m asking you to help out a young pitcher whose junior high picture somehow fell into his evil clutches.”

                A snort of laughter came from behind the mask, but all further conversation paused as Johnson began his windup.

                Ginny dropped to the ground, her instincts just quick enough to save her from a 94 mph fastball to the head. It was so close she could hear the ball as it flew past her. Garcia cursed as he lunged for the ball and managed to come up with it quickly enough to hold the runners on their bases.

                Ginny pushed her way up off the ground. She glared at Johnson and made a production of refusing to dust the dirt off of her uniform. Refusing to dust the dirt off her uniform was another of the unwritten rules of baseball. She was showing everyone she thought that the pitch was intentional and that if he did it again he was risking a fight. The shouting from her dugout told her that the Padres agreed.

                “Come on now Baker, it was just a wild pitch,” Garcia warned her, once again crouching behind the plate.

                “My ass that was a wild pitch. He’s wanted to hit me again since San Antonio,” she told him from the corner of her mouth as she once again dug into the batter’s box. “A fastball in the ear is going to hurt a lot more than a fist to the gut though.”

                From the corner of her eye she could see the catcher’s quick head movement as he looked up at her in surprise for no more than a second before once again focusing on his pitcher. Johnson wound up, and in her periphery vision she could see Garcia make a shift away from her.

 _He called an outside pitch,_ Ginny thought. _Keep your feet planted, no need to bail out on this one. A pitcher doesn’t defy his catcher on something like that._ By the time Ginny realized how wrong she was, it’s too late.

**Thud.**

              The whole stadium fell silent at the sound of a 97 mph fastball hitting her ribs. The pain was so intense it dropped her to her knees, unable to even wrap her arms around her ribs. Ironically, she probably would have cried if she had been able to, but she couldn’t even take a breath, let alone draw in enough air to sob.  Instead, all she could do was wheeze as she tried to bring in enough oxygen around the horrific pain in her ribs.

             “You okay Ginny,” Garcia asked as he rested a hand on her shoulder.

             “Do I look okay,” she wheezed out.

              Garcia leaned over her, keeping his hand on her shoulder. The entire world could watch and all they would see was a catcher checking up on a hit batsman. “Don’t rub it, Baker. Don’t give him the satisfaction,” he said quietly.

              The unsolicited advice pulled her eyes up to his. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Which I don’t, by the way. I can’t move my arm.”

              She could hear feet running from her dugout. “Get me up,” she wheezed to Garcia.

              He stood back and held out his hand. Ginny reached up with her unaffected arm and let him pull her to her feet. She stood hunched over for a minute, her hands on her knees as she fought to both breathe and resist holding on to her ribcage. Then numbness slowly spread from her chest across her entire body, making it possible for her to completely straighten up. The stadium exploded into cheers. They all knew she was hurt, so standing up and refusing to rub the injury displayed a level of guts that New Yorkers loved.

            “There you go, kid,” Garcia said from behind his mask. “Take first base.” His eyes flicked to the trainer approaching her from behind. “Don’t let them pull you until you get your feet on the bag.”

            She gave him a small nod. “Won’t that piss him off,” she murmured. Garcia smiled behind his mask before stepping back for the trainer.

            “Don’t touch it,” Ginny whispered to Ken.

            “Ginny, you could have broken ribs,” Ken told her. “You need to go to the hospital.”

             Ginny backpedaled out of his reach.  “Not yet. I’m going to first base.”

             Ken’s head jerked back in surprise. “You’re coming out of the game. That’s an order.”

        “Not yet,” Ginny repeated. “I’m not giving him the pleasure of seeing me hurt.”

         Ken sighed. “You players and your baseball traditions. Fine, go to first. Prove that you could stay in the game, and it’s only because your trainer is a worrier that you have to come out.”

        She managed a few jogging steps before the pain was so severe she had to slow down to a walk. She could feel Johnson staring her down from the mound and as she passed him, she met his gaze.

       “You’re still a coward,” she taunted him.

       Johnson started off the mound towards her and suddenly Garcia is between them, escorting her to first. Sure it looks like he’s preventing her from jawing at his pitcher, but in reality he’s offering her more advice.

       “Just shut up and get to first. If you start something, it’s going to be a brawl. Half of your team is going to be fined or suspended for coming to your defense, and my team is gonna catch shit for not rushing to Johnson’s defense. Let your reliever take care of it.”

       Ginny snorted. “It won’t happen. Your skipper will take Johnson out, and that means your best player will take the hit instead.”

       The catcher smiled behind his mask. “You don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure he’s back out next inning.”

       Ginny blinked up at the man. “Why would you set him up like that? You know he’s gonna get hit. Why aren’t you protecting him?”

       “Because the guy’s a dick,” he rushed out before they got to first, “and I’m sick of getting hit every time he starts shit.” He gave her a wink and grin before trotting to the mound to calm down his pitcher.

       Ginny let out a surprised laugh, which instantly turned into a wheeze. She stepped on first and felt satisfaction swell above the pain. Once again she had beaten the jerk. Yes, she had broken ribs and was undoubtedly going to spend the next couple of months on the DL, and yes that really sucked, but she still won. Not only did she show him up according to every unwritten rule in baseball, the entire world knew that he threw at her on purpose, not in retaliation but with the intent to maim. Some would crucify him for hurting a woman and some would say that’s what she deserved for playing a man’s game. But all the players, from little league to the Hall of Fame knew that he tried to cost her her career and her health, and despite that, she still beat him.

       Ginny stood on first waiting for Al and Ken to come pull her. The Yankees’ first baseman came over and gently patted her helmet. “You’re tough as nails, Baker. When you’re feeling better let me know and we’ll all buy you drinks. And just remember that I’m your favorite player when you next pitch against us and are looking for a little payback.” He winked at her and she gave a wheezing laugh.

      “I’ll take you up on that, Calahan.”

      Skip and Ken met her at the bag with a pinch runner in tow. With no more arguments from her, she was sent off the field. While the stadium had rung with cheers  when she trotted to first, it exploded to deafening levels when she headed towards the dugout.

      The pleasant numbness that had dulled the pain was quickly becoming nauseating and making her unsteady on her feet. _Shock will do that to you,_ she mused. It was suddenly requiring a lot of effort to keep her feet moving in the right direction.

      As she crossed in front of the Yankee dugout, many of their players clapped as a sign of respect. It sucked that it took broken ribs to make it happen, but damn, it felt good to know the players and fans were taking her seriously as a baseball player.

******************************************************************

 

                  She could now verify Mike’s statement that it was impossible to dress and undress yourself with broken ribs was indeed true. Sure enough, Ken had to strip her uniform off (except sports bra and sliding shorts, of course) and get her into her street clothes before she could get to the hospital for X-rays. The hospital quickly confirmed what Ginny already knew; she had two broken ribs and severe bruising on her chest and torso. They gave her big doses of muscle relaxants and pain meds and then sent her on her way.

                   Ken had thoughtfully called the hotel and had them change her room to an accessible room so she could have a chair in a walk in/wheel in shower. By the time she got back to the room, she was so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open, but there was no way that she was going to crawl into bed without washing the sweat and dirt off of her body.  She could wiggle her sliding shorts off, but she couldn’t even raise her arms enough to get her sports bra off. She bit her lip and braced herself for the pain and yanked hard at the bra. Instead of getting it off, all she managed to do was get it stuck over one boob and drop to her knees in so much pain in brought tears to her eyes.

                  Of course that’s when someone knocked on her door. She let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

                  “Baker, I know you’re in there,” a voice barked.

                  She held her silence, hoping he’d go away.

                  “Baker, if you don’t open this door I’m going to get security to do it for you.”

                  Against her will a sob escaped. She was stuck in her sports bra, one boob in and one boob out and in so much pain she wasn’t sure she could get off the floor. How was she supposed to open the door and did she even want to? Did she want her captain to see her like this?

                  More pounding at the door. “This is your last chance Baker. Open the door now or I’ll open it for you.”

                  “I’m coming,” she called out, but only the first part of it was loud enough to hear because the second word was said in a whimper. Her ribs weren’t up to yelling. She desperately looked around and found her cell phone on the corner of the bed. She knee walked until she could reach it and frantically typed out a message, hoping that Mike had his phone on him.

_I’m coming to the door now._

                 She typed another message and her thumb hovered over the send button for several seconds before she sent it to Mike.

_I need help._

_I’m outside your door now,_ was his immediate response.

                 She tried to stand up but her abs were tightening up and the bruises were swelling, and she couldn’t even push up off her knees. So she grabbed a throw from the bed and wrapped it around herself as best she could and then crawled, actually crawled, to the door. Thank God the handle was low for accessibility reasons. She unlocked the door and pulled it slightly open, making sure to stay out of sight behind the door.

                Mike pushed into the room, just stopping himself from slamming the door open. He glanced around the room, looking for her. “Baker?” He let the door close behind him as he stepped fully into her room.

                She couldn’t even take the golden opportunity to make a joke about old man vision loss. She just let out a whimper so pathetic that she’d be ashamed of herself as soon as she felt better.

                “Baker?” His voice was full of disbelief. When she didn’t respond he dropped to his knees beside her.

                “Ginny, what’s wrong?” Worry and fear were both present in his voice. His hand hovered over her back before dropping back to his side. He didn’t know if even a shoulder squeeze would make it worse.

“I’m stuck,” she confessed.

                Mike blinked in surprise. “You’re what?”

                “I’m stuck, Lawson.” Her voice definitely had more of a bite the second time.

                The edges of his lips tipped upwards. “Okay, how are you stuck?”

                His smile faded when she didn’t answer. He shifted until he was in front of her and dipped his head, trying to see her face. “Come on, Baker, tell me.”

                “Why don’t the Padres have a single woman besides me travel with them? I mean, really, why is there not one?” Her grumbling tone brought a smile full of relief to his face.

                “Because you’re the only woman the team can handle.”

                She sighed. “If you tell anyone about this Lawson,” she began.

                “Oh for God’s sake, just tell me what’s going on,” he interrupted exasperatedly.

                “I need help getting undressed, okay? I need to take a shower and I can’t get my sports bra off. There, are you happy,” she bit out.

                That rocked Mike back on his heels. No, this didn’t make him happy at all. There was a line that they agreed wouldn’t be crossed and this would not only cross it, it would erase it, stomp it into oblivion, and bend it until it didn’t look like it had been a line to begin with.

                His continued silence drove her temper. “You know what? You can leave. I’ll figure this out on my own.”

                “Now Baker,” Mike began in a soothing tone.

                “It’s time for you to go,” she interrupted.

                Mike stubbornly crossed his arms. “Really? And how do you plan to get out of your clothes?” He smirked, thinking he had won the argument.

                The look of disdain on her face sobered him quickly. “I’ll do it myself. I can figure out a way. Now leave.”

                “You’re such a drama queen,” he told her, thinking to tease her into a better mood.

                It was _exactly_ the wrong thing to say. She straightened on her knees, pulling her throw tighter around her body. “Go to hell, Mike Lawson. This is why I don’t ask for help.” Gathering her pride, her strength and a hefty amount of spite, she slowly rose to her feet, biting her lip hard to contain the gasp of pain that nearly escaped. Standing upright was far beyond her abilities, so she shuffled hunched over to the bathroom, grabbing her cell phone on the way.

                “Ginny, wait, I didn’t mean it like that. Come on, don’t hurt yourself just because you’re angry with me.” When she continued to hobble away from him, he finally said it.

                “I’m sorry.”

                She stopped her slow progress towards the bathroom but refused to turn around to face him. “What?”

                “I said I’m sorry.”

                Ginny had never heard him say that to anyone, herself included. They didn’t say that type of thing to each other; it was usually implied through head nods or shoulder shrugs. He must have been feeling like a huge ass for him to make that confession out loud.

                Ginny would have let out an aggravated sigh if she could have. “Fine, you big, insensitive jerk.” She turned around to face him. “You know, it constantly amazes me that you know absolutely nothing about women, yet still they fawn all over you.”

                Mike snorted. “I know plenty about women, Baker. That’s what makes me irresistible. That and my amazing charm and smoking hot body.”

                She snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, egomaniac.”

                “And the beard. Women love my beard.”

                “Women do not love the beard.”

                Mike grinned. “I beg to differ. Just last week I had a woman begging for my beard on her…”

                “Enough,” Ginny interrupted. “I don’t need to hear this, Lawson.” Despite her harsh tone, a chuckle escaped. Then that chuckle turned into a groan as the sharp pain in her ribs had her doubled over in pain.

                “Alright Baker, how do you want to do this?” That was Mike –the captain-- asking her, ready to take charge and make things happen. In some deluded, slightly high and definitely pain fogged part of her mind, she was happy to hear that take charge tone of voice. She was barely hanging on and was willing to cede a small, well very tiny, piece of control to him.

                “Get scissors and cut it off.”

                Mike opened his mouth to question her decision but obviously thought better of it and said nothing. He put in a call to the front desk requesting scissors and in a mind-boggling short amount of time a maid was knocking on the door with three different pairs. Yes, three. The woman must have run the entire way to arrive so quickly, and when Ginny say Mike tip her a $50, she could understand why.

                Ginny wiggled the throw around until it covered the front of her chest but left her back exposed. She expected him to make some sort of dirty joke, but he silently cut the sports bra’s back and then the two straps so all she had to do was let her arms fall and the bra was gone.

                “I can’t believe I let a baseball player use scissors within a mile radius of my hair,” she muttered.

 He moved away from her and she heard him rustling around in the bathroom and then the sound of the shower being turned on. “It’s because you love me,” he called out.  “I mean, I’m sure it all started with my poster, but now that you actually know me…well, how could you not?”

She would have made a smart remark, really she needed to just to keep his ego in check, but she was too tired to manage. While he was out of sight she had quickly wrapped the throw around herself again and shuffled to the armoire to grab clean clothes. A quick rummage through the drawer revealed a packing oversight. “Shit,” she muttered.

                “Now what,” Mike said from right behind her. He peered over her shoulder into the drawer holding her undies and pjs. “Forgot your dinosaur pajamas?”

                “Will you let the dinosaurs go,” she asked in exasperation.

                “Never.”

                She shuffled towards the shower, determined to ignore him. Mike followed behind her, refusing to let her escape his questions.

                “Why were you swearing at the furniture, Baker?”

                “I forgot to pack more bras,” she mumbled.

                Mike froze. “So I just cut up the only bra that you have?”

                “Yes,” she told him. He was alarmed at how watery her voice sounded. He moved around her and, holy crap, her lower lip was trembling.

                “Hey, it’s okay Ginny, I’ll help,” he rushed out. “Don’t cry.”

                She sniffed. “I’m not crying. I don’t cry,” she told him.

                “There’s nothing wrong with crying, Baker. Everyone does it.” He held up his hand to stop her response. “Let’s get you in the shower. When you’re done I’ll load you down with meds and you can get some sleep.”

                She let him lead her into the bathroom. He had set the entire shower up so she wouldn’t have to move off of the shower chair for anything except reaching for a towel that was right at the edge of the tile. He was closing the door behind him when he heard her softly say, “Thanks Mike. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

               

**********************************************************************************

 

                Mike jerked open the door of Ginny’s room to see Livan’s fist still raised to continue knocking.

                “No,” Mike bit out and immediately slammed the door in Livan’s face.

                The pounding started again, even more obnoxious than last time, if that was possible.

                “Open the door old man,” Ginny ordered.

                With a growl of irritation he yanked the door open again. “What?”

                Livan tried to push his way into the room but Mike stood firm. “Why are you in Ginny’s room,” Livan demanded. “Get out of my way. I want to see her.”

                “Knock it off Lawson,” Ginny ordered. Mike reluctantly moved back to allow the cocky Cuban into the room. The catchers’ relationship had slowly evolved into a tolerable working one. Livan started to listen to Mike’s advice and even occasionally followed it. Mike tried to be a little more tolerant of the punk and only threatened to kill him once a week now. Both still took great amounts of pleasure from needling each other. And this time, Livan had the advantage.

                “Looking good Mami,” Livan greeted Ginny with a big smile and gentle hug. “I see you got my present.”

                Ginny made a face at Livan, but let it go. Even a year later, it still occasionally came up in conversation that she had been wearing Mike’s jersey after her surgery. It was childish and beyond petty, but it bothered Livan enough (and made Lawson smug enough), that Ginny was willing to even things out.

                “Of course I got it, Papi. You had a batboy run after me, raid your locker, and hand off your jersey to a clubbie who let you bribe him into delivering your jersey to my room.”

                Livan grinned with pride at the sound of Lawson’s snort. “You’re looking extra beautiful in it, little Rosie.”

                Ginny shook her head at him but before she could check his ego, the room phone rang. After she answered, she listened carefully, asked a few pointed questions, and then politely said good night before slamming the phone down on the cradle.

                “What was that,” Livan asked.

                Ginny glared at the phone. “The concierge said they can’t help me until the morning.”

                Livan’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Help you with what?”

                “None of your business,” Mike sniped as he stepped next to Livan. He looked down to where Ginny was curled on her side in the middle of the bed. “They couldn’t find a single store open? There’s not one single store in all of New York City that is open at 1:00 in the morning?”

                Ginny scowled. “They said they didn’t have anyone that they could send to go get it.” Then, while both men watched in horror, her eyes filled with tears.

                “Woah, Mami. Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it,” Livan rushed out. He wasn’t always a sucker for tears, but he was definitely a sucker for Ginny’s tears. Not that he had seen them before, but it was still a fact.

                “Ginny, don’t worry. We can easily fix this. So we wait until tomorrow morning and get everything squared away. You’ll be stuck in bed tomorrow anyways. Your ribs are going to be too sore for you to move much at all,” Mike reasoned.

                His logic didn’t help the situation. Ginny tightened her jaw and looked away from the men. “I’m tired. You guys go to bed and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She tried to wiggle down on the pillow but quickly stopped when it sent a sharp pain through her torso.

                Livan glared at Mike. “You’re an ass,” he bit out. He gently sat beside Ginny on the bed, taking care not to jostle her. “Come on Rosie, you can tell me what’s wrong. You know I’ll help you,” he softly prodded.

                To Mike’s chagrin, Ginny didn’t hesitate to explain the situation to Livan. He hated that the normally private Ginny Baker was so comfortable with the guy. “I don’t have a bra. Mike cut off my only one and I forgot to pack backups. The concierge can’t send a personal shopper to find me more until tomorrow, so I’ll have to be trapped in the room all day.”

                Livan stared at Lawson. “You cut her bra off? What the hell were you doing?”

                “I couldn’t get it off because of my ribs,” Ginny explained.          

                “Baker, you won’t be leaving anyways,” Mike once again tried to reason.

                “But the guys might come over, and I can’t let anyone see me without a bra,” she pointed out. “The last thing I want is for my teammates to see my nipples,” she grumbled under her breath.

                Both Mike and Livan froze, before looking at each other in utter shock. “Sweet Jesus, I can’t believe she said that,” Livan whispered in horror.

                “It’s the drugs,” Mike choked out. “She’s on lots and lots of drugs. One of them must have completely erased her common sense.”

                “Am I not allowed to say the word ‘nipples’ around you,” Ginny asked in a tone of voice that suggested they not respond.

                “Baker, you’re not even allowed to _think_ the word ‘nipples’ around us,” Mike told her.

                Ginny opened her mouth to point out the utter hypocrisy of their reaction, and Livan quickly jumped in. “I’ll get your bra. What type do you want?”

                Mike waited for Ginny to blast the backup catcher, but she nodded instead. “A front zipper sports bra for sure, and a bandeau bra if you can find something that you think will be soft around my ribs.”

                “Wait,” Mike blurted out. “You’re going to let him pick out bras for you?”

                “Why not? It’s not like he doesn’t have plenty of experience.”

                Mike’s eyebrows nearly shot off of his forehead.

                “For his girlfriends,” Ginny clarified.

                Livan clutched his heart. “You wound me, Mami. I only have one girlfriend now.” He tipped his head and winked at her. “And you know I’d leave her in a heartbeat for you.”

                Ginny laughed softly. “You tease.”

                Mike had had enough. “Duarte, go. Use your common sense and whatever common decency you have to get her something. And try to be discrete for once in your life.”

                “Go to hell Lawson,” Livan told him without much bite in his tone. He reached out and gently tapped the tip of Ginny’s nose. “Go to sleep, Mami,” he murmured. “I’ll be back when you wake up.” He raised his voice slightly to make sure Lawson heard him. “With really great lingerie that I can’t wait to see you model.”

                Ginny batted his hand away, but smiled up at him. “Quit antagonizing him. I’ll have to deal with his complaining while you’re gone.”

                Livan was still laughing as he left.

                “That boy makes me nuts,” Mike told her as he sorted through the medicine the hospital pharmacy had sent home with her. He grabbed a bottle of water and a handful of pills and carried them to the bed.

                “Well, quit reacting,” Ginny told him. “You know, it feels like you’re always drugging me”.

                “I am. It’s the only way I get any peace and quiet,” he retorted. He waited until the meds were gone and she had settled back onto her pillow. “When the meds kick in, right before you go to sleep, I need you to straighten out and lay on your back. If you don’t stretch those muscles out, you’ll be in bad shape tomorrow. The last thing you want is pneumonia. Trust me when I say coughing with broken ribs makes you pray for death.”

                “I will,” she promised. “So what happened after I left the game?”

                Mike grinned. “I’m not sure, let’s turn on a sports channel and see.”

                “Mike, I’m sure ESPN and the others have more important things to talk about than just me.”

                Mike shook his head as he started flipping through channels. “You know, you have a surprising small ego for a baseball player.” He stopped on Sportscenter.

                There was her entire at-bat being played over and over again. The sportscasters analyzed every second of the at bat, and retired baseball players commented on everything from her refusal to brush the dirt off her uniform to the fact that Johnson threw at her head, not to intimidate but to injure. They all raved about her decision to go to first, especially when the Padres just confirmed that she had two broken ribs. Two Hall of Fame players praised her guts and her composure and Ginny wanted to record the moment to replay for the rest of her life. These men that she respected and tried to emulate had just given her huge recognition as an athlete. Not as the first female baseball player, but as just another ball player like all the others in the selective world of major league baseball.

                “What happened to Johnson,” Ginny asked. Mike just pointed to the screen and as if on cue, the tv showed a clip of Johnson yelling at Garcia in the dugout. The Yankees’ manager stepped between the two and had an intense talk with the pitcher. Without another word, Johnson went and sat at the end of the bench, slapping his glove on the ground in disgust.

                The cause of his anger became apparent when Johnson was sent back out to pitch the next inning and eventually to bat. He kept looking at the dugout as he warmed up in the on deck circle, but no pinch hitter was announced and he angrily stalked to the plate.   

                The whole stadium held their breath to see what would happen. The first pitch Butch threw was inside and Johnson jumped out of the box, only to have it called a strike. He scowled and dug into the batter’s box, only to have another pitch come inside as a strike. It was quickly apparent that Butch and Mike were toying with the Yankee pitcher. He was so jumpy in the box the umpire had to tell him to stay set so the Butch could throw the ball. The count was 2-2 when Butch threw at Johnson’s head. It was his changeup and at 80 mph, it should have been easy for Johnson to lean back or duck under. Instead he hit the dirt.

                The Yankees’ manager came to the top of the dugout stairs and yelled something at the umpires.

                “What did he say,” Ginny asked.

                “He mentioned something about a warning needing to be issued so if Butch hits anyone in retaliation, he’s tossed from the game.”

                Ginny watched the umpire’s lack of response. “The ump didn’t give one, did he?”

                “Nope,” Mike said, popping his lips on the ‘p’ and sounding amazingly smug.

                Johnson said something to the ump and Mike, before stepping back into the batter’s box one last time. Even knowing it was coming, the pitcher still couldn’t avoid the fastball. It dropped him to his knees, clutching at his ribs. Mike stood over him and said something to the injured pitcher before casually strolling to the mound.

                “What did you tell him,” Ginny asked.

                “I told him to be happy it was Butch pitching because any other pitcher would have taken off his head. Butch thought it would be better to save the head-hunting for the next time you faced Johnson, so Butch just kindly hit him in the ribs instead.”

                “You guys are amazing,” Ginny told him. She yawned widely. “I was kind of hoping that someone would punch him for me though,” she confessed.

                “As a team captain, I would never condone that. But as a player, it’s not my place to tattle on my teammates. You might want to ask Omar about that bruise on his fist when you next see him.”

                Ginny fell asleep with a smile on her face.

*************************************************************************************

 

                Ginny’s eyes cracked open as the sun streamed through the sheer curtains. She slowly rolled onto her side, groaning at the painfully stiff muscles in her torso. Blip was sprawled sideways on the spare bed, sound asleep. The entire bottom of the bed was filled with bags. There were bags from every lingerie store Ginny had heard of and several more bags from different athletic stores.

                Ginny laughed softly. Of course Livan would go over the top just to annoy Mike.  

                “I already took pictures of it for Evelyn,” Blip told her, his voice groggy with sleep.

                “Where are Mike and Livan?”

                “Either in their rooms sleeping, or in the back lot having a pissing contest,” Blip answered.

                “Well thank you for giving up your sleep to babysit me.”

                Blip rolled out of bed and stretched. “Gin, I didn’t do it for you. I did it for the team. The catchers in the farm system aren’t ready for the majors yet, so if Mike and Livan finally kill each other, we’ll all be conscripted into catching and nobody wants to risk that.”

                Ginny smiled at him. “Please. You wanted the video to send to Evelyn.”

                “That, too,” Blip easily admitted. “Now come on Ginny, let’s get you out of bed before the boys come knocking on your door. You don’t want to meet them with bedhead, do you?” He looked her over as he helped her out of bed. “Never mind the bedhead. You don’t want them seeing you sleeping in Livan’s jersey.”

                “You think they’d notice,” Ginny wondered as she slowly crept her way to the bags of bras.

                “Oh girl, they’d notice. Then someone would feel slighted and want you to use their jersey next, and so on and so on, until eventually Mike’s head explodes.”

                Right on cue, someone knocks on her door. It’s amazing how fast Blip could move. The man had all the bags of bras and a fresh set of clothes for Ginny in the bathroom, and the shower running before Ginny was half way there. He waited until the bathroom door shut before answering the door. There in the hallway were three waiters with carts full of breakfast.

                Blip smiled as he signed the receipts for the staff and let them fill the room with trays of food. Their teammates sure knew how to cheer Ginny up. There is nothing that (he lifted the lids to look on the plates) a pound of bacon wouldn’t fix for her. He called down to the front lobby and asked to reserve a private meeting room immediately. He knew the team would be visiting shortly, so they may as well be comfortable with enough chairs for everyone instead of crammed in one hotel room.

                He shook his head as he pulled out his phone. Evie was going to love this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yankees and Padres meet again in Interleague play two years later.

_“And here we go, the highly anticipated rematch of the Yankees-Padres series is underway. On the mound for the Padres is Ginny Baker. Her counterpart? Yankee pitcher Chad Johnson. I’m sure everyone in Petco Park remembers that these hurlers had a run in two years ago that left Ginny Baker on the DL for three months with broken ribs.”_

_“That’s right Dan. All of baseball has been waiting to see if this rematch would ever occur and wouldn’t you know it’s happening in the first game of the three game series. Now, we all know what the Yankees and Padres clubs have told the press. The players, managers and GMs have all said the same thing, that they aren’t looking back, that bad blood doesn’t exist, and that neither team ‘headhunts’. Still, it’s worth noting that veteran catcher Mike Lawson is catching tonight on what would traditionally be his day off.”_

_“It makes me wonder if that’s Luongo’s way of keeping Ginny Baker calm, or if he’s counting on the most veteran player on the field tonight to enforce both the written and unwritten rules of baseball.”_

_“Especially those unwritten rules, Dan. Well, no matter what the game plan is for both managers, we’ll see what happens when the pitchers face each other. We may be looking at a beanball war. After all, we’ve seen Baker’s willingness to protect her teammates the old fashioned way, with a solid off-speed lesson to the offending player.”_

_“And after their last encounter, Johnson hasn’t been able to shake his headhunter reputation. His hefty fine by MLB and suspension by the Yankees must have stung also.”_

_“Well, we’ll have all of our questions answered within the next three innings, Bob. Until then, let’s all sit back and enjoy what should be a great game.”_

_**************************_

“What are you thinking, Baker?”

She tried batting her lashes at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Nice try, rookie,” Mike told her. “You’re thinking so hard steam is coming out of your ears.”

Ginny gave him a look. “If you must know, I’m thinking about how I can convince Al to sit your ass on the bench so Livan can catch me.”

Mike scoffed, as if the idea was so ludicrous as to be funny. “Nice try.”

Ginny stood in the back end of the dugout, waiting for the team’s cue to take the field. For every single Padres game, the players ran onto the field, the infielders at a jog, outfielders at a sprint. Only after they had all crossed the first baseline without touching it would the pitcher take the field and walk to the mound. The routine never varied. Ball players were nothing if not superstitious.

“Your ego is out of control captain,” she told him. “I could have pitched just fine with Livan behind the plate today.”

Suddenly the teasing expression on Mike’s face vanished. “The last thing the team needs is that hothead behind the plate. We’d have World War Three before the second batter.”

And there it was, the elephant in the dugout. Every single person with the Padres, hell every ball player in the world, knew what happened the last time she faced the Yankees. If there had been a single person in America that had missed the constant replays two years ago, the press made damn sure they knew about it this time. One blogger had even compared it to the rising of the antichrist, and oh how the team had enjoyed that one. Several of her jerk teammates still called her Saint Genevieve and lit candles to her for protection from the Evil Empire.

When Ginny gave a noncommittal shrug, Lawson stepped closer so he could lower his voice. “We’ve got this, rookie. Don’t let the talking heads and media idiots psych you out.”

“Lawson, I’m fine,” she interrupted.

He studied her for a moment, searching her face for any signs of deception, of stress. Ginny didn’t bother hiding from him; he could read her like a book. Finally he chuffed out a laugh. “Rookie, you just interrupted one of the best speeches I’ve ever created, and that’s saying something because every one of my speeches is great. You can listen to it now, or stew in anticipation the entire game, but you’re going to hear it sometime tonight. Then you can bask in my glory and offer the appropriate amount of awe at my greatness.”

She burst out laughing, marveling at both his conceit and his rare ability to know exactly what to say at exactly the right time. “You are such a narcissist. Now get your butt behind the plate and remind me why you’re our primary catcher, old man.”

He tapped the bill of her hat down as payback for her sass, but he was still smiling as he pulled down his mask and trotted to the plate to begin her warm up.

 

***************************

It was the bottom of the second when Ginny approached the plate. Johnson had been even more wild than usual, giving up three walks in the first inning. If Ginny was a more suspicious person, she’d think it was a way to cover his ass if/when he hit her because he could point to his lack of control on pitches all game. However, she couldn’t believe that _any_ pitcher, even an asshole like Chad, would put themselves two runs down in the first inning of a game, quite possibly costing himself a win in the process, out of spite. No one was that stupid, and Chad Johnson was anything but stupid. Mean, conniving, and misogynistic for sure, but definitely not stupid.

“We meet again, Baker.”

Ginny dug her back foot into the batter’s box, trying to make a groove for her cleat in the dirt. “Fancy meeting you here, Garcia. You come here often?”

“The guys and I were talking, Baker. I know Calahan promised that we all would buy you drinks, but after the past few days I think you owe us drinks instead.”

Ginny gave a few practice swings before bringing her front foot in the box and getting set. “And why is that?”

“Because we’ve all been asked about you so much that our wives are getting jealous.”

Ginny barely heard him, her attention fixed on repeating her newest skill learned from veterans of the game. _Turn into the pitch, turn into the pitch, turn into the pitch._

She was going to get hit. She knew it, the Yankees knew it, and the Padres knew it. That’s why several of the Padres veterans had pulled her into the batting cages for lessons on the right way to get hit. The number one takeaway lesson? Turn into the pitch instead of jumping back or trying to dodge it. If you’re going to get hit, take it on your fleshy parts; for her, she was hoping it would hit somewhere on her butt or thighs. Still, she’d rather take it off her back than her ribs or, God forbid, her head.

Johnson didn’t keep her waiting in anticipation. The first pitch came in tight, and she barely had the time to turn her back. She was fortunate that the fastball hit the muscles protecting her ribs, giving her a wickedly painful bruise, but saving her from another hefty stint on the DL with broken ribs. She made a point of bending over and setting the bat on home plate, giving herself a few seconds to hide her face and the grimace she was certainly wearing. If she didn’t give him a reaction with broken ribs, she sure wasn’t going to give in because of a bruise, albeit an ugly one.  

Garcia was at her shoulder as soon as she straightened, ready to escort her to first if necessary to keep her from jawing at his pitcher. “Okay, so we owe you beers after all.”

Ginny a deep breath just to make sure she could. “Garcia, by the time we’re done with this mess you’re all going to owe me your first born child.”

She could hear the catcher’s chuckle as she jogged her way to first, trying hard to ignore the throbbing pain in her back. The loud, angry boos of the fans instantly turned to roars of approval as they saw that she was taking her bag. A quick conversation with her first base coach convinced him to wave the athletic trainer back into the dugout.

Calahan waited until the coach backed away before approaching the bag. “Before we all go out for drinks, I’m going to need you to write a note to my girlfriend promising that the only reason I’ve said your name more time than hers in the last three days is because the press is obsessed.”

Ginny bit back a smile. All cameras were on her at that moment and who knew what the commentators would make of her joking with the Yankees players. “Now why would I do that for you?”

Calahan settled his foot onto the bag behind her, taking his position to receive a throw after Ginny’s lead off. “Because not only will we buy you the best alcohol, I’ll buy you a steak. Besides, I’m the poor sucker that has the locker next to Johnson and I deserve your pity for that alone.”

Ginny actually had to bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You’re right. I’ll write that note tonight,” she told him as she began her lead off.

She kept her weight evenly balanced, waiting to see if Chad would throw back to first just to try and peg her one more time. After all, there was no need to hold her on the bag. Pitchers didn’t steal bases. It just wasn’t done. No one wanted to risk an injury to their pitching staff because they were far more valuable throwing than just advancing a base. If a pitcher did get on base, their primary job was to not get hurt. Scoring an actual run was just a bonus.

Ginny took off for second as soon as Johnson started his motion to home on the next pitch. The jerk didn’t even pitch from the stretch, which was the ultimate insult to her as a runner. Garcia didn’t stand a chance of throwing her out; she slid into second base before he could get the ball out of his glove. The stadium exploded into cheers, the fans as loud as she had ever heard them. When she risked a glance at the dugout, Skip was standing on the top step of the dugout with his hands on his hips, looking like a parent torn between smacking their kid and hugging them. Her pitching coach looked like he wanted to cry. Her teammates were hanging over the dugout fence laughing and clapping and shouting things she couldn’t hear across the field. And then there was her captain, chewing his gum and studying her with a careful expression. The media wouldn’t see any disapproval from him, but she knew him better. He was itching to tear into her.

The inning ended with her stranded at second and Lawson was waiting for her as she walked into the dugout. He slapped her glove against her chest, carefully to keep his back to the field to block them from the cameras.

“It’s like you’re begging to take a ball in the ear Baker.” Ginny snorted but kept quiet, knowing when to let him have his say. After studying her for a moment, he sighed. “I’ll put down the signs for Johnson, starting at 1. Nod when you get what you want. I’ll assume inside unless you indicate otherwise.”

Ginny’s jaw dropped. “You’re letting me call it?”

Mike pulled his mask down and turned towards the stairs. “Don’t make me regret this, rookie.”

 

                                                                                                              ****************************

The stadium vibrated with anticipation when Johnson left the on deck circle. She could see her teammates shifting restlessly in their positions, and both sides had players moving off of the benches to hang over the dugout fences.

He swaggered to the batter’s box and dug in, casually swinging his bat a few times before stepping his lead foot into the box. She leaned forward, focusing on Lawson’s fingers flashing between his thighs, nodding once she got the pitch call she wanted. She straightened into her stance, changing her grip within the depths of her glove. Then with a quickness that started both Lawson and Johnson, she threw the pitch.

“Strike!”

The umpire’s call was loud even in the noisy stadium. Chad stepped one foot out of the box and spit in frustration, but didn’t bother to argue that the cutter was a strike on the top inside corner. He stepped into the box and once again, Ginny leaned forward for the sign. It took a few seconds longer for Mike to receive the nod this time.

“Strike two!” This time Johnson did step out of the box to make a comment to the umpire, vehemently insisting that her screwball was a ball inside. A sharp word from the umpire stopped Johnson’s protest and had him stepping back into the box.

Ginny nodded at the first sign Mike flashed. She took a deep breath and adjusted her grip. With an intensity that she had never achieved before, she reared back and threw the ball, a faint smirk escaping as soon as it left her hand.

“Strike three! You’re out!”

Johnson charged the mound before the umpire had lowered his arm. He carried the bat with him and for a second Ginny thought he was going to use it on her. As soon as he tossed it aside, she dropped her glove and stood her ground, daring him to try and take her pitching mound. Johnson always was a fast bastard. She could see Mike rip his mask off and come barreling after the pitcher and all of her infielders were sprinting in, but for that moment it was just her and Johnson. He’d get in at least one swing before the Padres got there. But that meant she’d get in a swing too before they got separated and right now she was happy to take those odds.

She knew his punch was coming; after all, she’d seen it before. She sidestepped it, but he still managed to adjust enough to catch her cheekbone. The pain exploded in her face, but the adrenaline made it easy to ignore. She drew her arm back and punched him as hard as she could. Her blow caught him on the nose and staggered him back a step, his feet scrambling to maintain his balance as he stumbled down the mound. He managed to grab her jersey and they both tumbled to the ground, scrabbling and trying to get in one more good punch. She knew damn well if he got on top of her it wasn’t going to end well for her and she fought like hell to keep that from happening. She was able to get her knees under her while still fighting off Johnson. The both exchanged several more glancing blows before she was abruptly hauled off the ground and pulled away from the melee.

 

                                                                                                          ****************************

Ginny was nearly vibrating as she strode into the clubhouse, the adrenaline letdown making her shaky and on edge. And the decrease in adrenaline directly correlated with the increase in pain she was feeling. Suddenly she could feel every bruise and abrasion on her body and her head, oh my God, her head felt like it was going to explode.

A rough hand gripped her upper arm and pulled her to a halt. She reacted instinctively, her already overstimulated nervous system moving her body before her mind could catch up. Ginny jerked away from the hold and whirled around with her arm, her _pitching_ arm, already pulled back for a punch.

With the reaction time that kept him the best defensive catcher in the league, Mike caught her fist in his hand and held tight, completely stopping her motion. He held her immobile as he looked her over from head to toe before focusing in on her eyes. Well, eye. The other one was completely swollen shut.

“You were about to trip over a chair, Baker.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but suddenly heat crept up her cheeks. “Oh.” She relaxed her arm and he carefully released her fist. She turned away, hoping to hide her embarrassment. “Well, I’m going to go take a shower,” she muttered. She half expected him to object, to say something, but he just let her walk away. When she was at her changing room door, she risked a glance back and immediately wished she hadn’t. He had his arms crossed, his legs braced apart and his glare was hot enough to start fires. She looked for a sign that he was as affected by the adrenaline and the fight, even a hint that he was sore or his limbs were shaky, but he was rock steady. Self-consciousness rose until she felt like the rookie that he still called her.

Quickly gathering her shower things, she strode to the repurposed manager’s shower. She stood in the how water until the steam fogged over the mirror and her fingertips wrinkled like prunes. The throbbing in her head was getting worse by the second, but the pounding water eased the adrenaline jitters and tightening muscles. Ginny purposely avoided looking in the mirror as she dried off and dressed, inexplicably dreading the truth her reflection would show.

“He did _what_?”

Mike’s sudden shout drew her attention and she quickly left the bathroom, promising herself she’d come back to clean up her mess as soon as she figured out what had Mike so upset.

She came around the corner just in time to see Lawson squat down and fasten the straps of the leg guards around Hinkley’s calf. Even from the side she recognized her captain’s gear. She knew every little nick and scratch on it; she should, she spent hours staring at it every week for the last three years.

“You’re going to want to cross these straps on the back of your legs to hold them tighter to you. You’ve always had chicken legs,” he told Hinkley. “It’s not your fault of course; not everyone can be the perfect specimen that is Mike Lawson.” Hinkley snorted, but didn’t offer the blistering comeback that the comment deserved. Instead, he fidgeted with the chest protector like a child wearing an itchy sweater.

“Quit wiggling. I swear to God, I’ll send you out there without any gear if you don’t hold your ass still.” Hinkley froze while Mike worked on the chest protector, trying to tighten it as much as possible to fit the smaller man.

“This is a terrible idea, Cap,” Hinkley blurted out. “I haven’t caught since Little League.”

Ginny held her breath as she watched the Padres’ captain dip his head and cross himself as if he were praying to every saint of every religion in the world. He slapped Hinkley’s back and stepped around to face him, no sign of trepidation or doubt to be seen.

“Hink, I’m going to tell you a secret. If you tell a single soul I will personally guarantee that every shampoo bottle you own for the rest of your life will contain super glue. Understand?” A smile softened the panicked look on the shortstop’s face.

“Catching will be easy for you because you’re wearing my gear. You know Superman has his cape? That’s nothing compared to this gear. I’ve caught a no hitter wearing this gear, I’ve caught Cy Young winners, and starred in All-Star games in this gear, as well as won multiple MVP awards. Of course, it’s my own personal invincibility that has worn off on it, but consider yourself blessed that I even allow you to touch it.” Hinkley’s chuckle eased the visible tension in his muscles.

“Now listen. They’ve brought in Butch and Lu will try to have him close out the game. Yeah, it’s a little long for him but Butch can do it. If he does need to come out, they’ll bring in another veteran, so don’t worry about having to babysit a pitcher. Lord knows you don’t get paid enough to deal with that. Hell _I_ don’t get paid enough to deal with that.” Lawson smiled as Hinkley laughed but continued.

“Don’t worry about calling the pitches. Go ahead and get the sign from the dugout, but ultimately Butch will let you know what he plans to throw. You know the drill, 1 is for fastball, 2 is curve, et cetera. He’ll give you a faint nod when you get the pitch right and then he’ll get set on the mound when you give him the correct location. Just trust him. And you know the Yankees, you’ve seen them play before. If something catches your eye, say something.”

 “What if someone is on base?”

Mike handed Hinkley his helmet and the young player took it like it was the crown jewels of England. “Go with base number indicator. If a runner is on first, it’s still the first sign. If he’s on second it’s the second sign shown. Third is third. Don’t make things any more complicated than necessary.”

A shout came down the tunnel from the dugout. “Sam. You’re a shortstop. You’ve got great reflexes and good hands, which is why Lu chose you to do this. Plus, you have my super-powered invincibility gear. You’ll be fine. Now get out of here so I can kill my back up without witnesses.” And with a slap on the ass, he sent his starting shortstop out to catch his first professional baseball game.

Ginny silently dashed back to the bathroom before Mike turned away from the tunnel. There was no way that her captain would have wanted her to hear that speech. It wasn’t often that their gruff captain exposed his soft side, but that’s exactly what he had done, albeit in a very Mike Lawson way. She could only imagine how panicked she would be if Luongo told her to put on someone else’s catching gear and get behind home plate, where she would be expected to catch 98 mph fastballs and sliders that could break three feet. She’d probably lock herself in her cubby and not come out until the game was over. Yet somehow Mike Lawson had taken a panicked shortstop and convinced him that he stood a chance of surviving his first catching role.

Mike Lawson was a damn good captain.

                                                                                     *******************************************

 

“So. I’m guessing you’re mad,” Ginny mumbled, her words muffled by the icepacks resting on her face.

“Now why would you think that, Baker?”

She felt safe grimacing at his tone because there was no way he could see it. “Well, now’s a great time to give me that speech I’ve been dying to hear,” she offered.

She could _feel_ his glare. “Oh no, you’ve lost the right to my hall of fame worthy speech.”

“What would you have her do, Lawson? Let him beat her until you managed to get there,” Livan snapped from the table next to hers.

Ginny dropped her icepacks and jumped off the table just in time to keep Mike from going for Livan. “Don’t do it, Lawson.” She slid her way in front of him, preventing him from moving towards Livan by pushing at his chest. He could have easily lifted her out of the way, he had both the muscle and weight to move her, but she slowed him down just enough to let logic surpass the emotion. And because she played dirty, she tipped her head just enough that he was looking right at her bruises when his eyes dropped from Livan’s to hers.

He clenched his jaw as he glared at her before giving her a nearly invisible nod. “Get your ass back under those icepacks, rookie. You’re going to frighten small children.” She did as she was told and slid back onto the table, groping for the ice. She hadn’t been on the table for more than thirty seconds before another ice pack dropped onto her stomach, startling a squawk out of her.

“Livan, you better quit laughing before I bruise my pitching hand on your jaw,” she threatened.

“Listen to you, Mami. You get in one fight and now you’re threatening everyone.” His tone carried his suppressed laughter.                                                                                                                        

To her surprise, a bark of laughter came from the table holding Lawson. “Where have you been? She’s constantly threatening people.”

Ginny growled, actually growled, in annoyance. She didn’t like when they argued, but she hated when they sided against her. It was so much easier when she could handle each of them individually.

A hand slapped the side of her thigh. “Sit up, Mami, they’re showing the replay.”

Ginny quickly pulled the ice from her face and tried to sit up. The pain in her back stopped her with a gasp. Before she could twist to the side to ease the soreness, an arm slid behind her shoulders and pulled her upright. But because he was Livan, he couldn’t just leave it alone. Oh no, he slid next to her on the table and pulled her back so she was leaning against his chest. When she smacked his stomach, he caught her hand and held it.

“Be quiet, I’m watching the show,” he told her. Ginny would have almost bought his disinterest if she hadn’t caught the shit-eating grin he threw at Lawson and the deep scowl he received in return.

And there on the screen, in high definition for the world to enjoy, appeared what was already being called The Brawl. She watched the clip of the pitch she took off her back and subsequent stolen base and smiled. “I’m going to have to get that base from the grounds crew and have it bronzed to commemorate my first stolen base in the majors.”

“Oh we’re going to be talking about that later rookie,” her captain warned from beside her. The anger in his tone effectively wiped the smile from her face.

The image on the screen shifted to show Johnson walking to the plate, staring her down the entire time. The commentators slowed down the clip, analyzing each pitch and praising her perfect location and repeating how her catcher was one of the greatest game callers of all time. Ginny thought about repeating that to Mike, but given his mood it seemed best to wait to tease him about his ‘game calling’ until he finally calmed down in a year or two.

“Now let’s slow down this last pitch,” the announcer told this audience. “And what a doozey it was, too. Ginny Baker just threw her fastest pitch since in the majors at 92 mph.” Livan squeezed her shoulders in congratulations and, to her surprise, Mike held out his fist without looking at her, silently letting her knew he was proud of her accomplishment despite his anger. She leaned forward and bumped her fist against his in thanks.

“Now this is where it gets interesting. If you look at Baker when she releases the ball, you can see something that looks like a smile. Now there’s no way to know if that played a role in Johnson’s decision to charge the mound, but the minute the ball hit Lawson’s mitt, Johnson was running.”

It felt surreal to watch the replay, all three players finally able to see the entire scene as they viewed the fight at normal speed, than again in slow motion. They stared at the screen and listened to the blow-by-blow analysis by the Padres broadcasters. Ginny leaned forward as Lawson rushed into the picture at the same time as Omar and Melky. Omar pulled her away from Johnson a millisecond before Mike blasted the pitcher from the side, knocking him flat on his back. The camera angle moved to show Ginny being held around the waist by Salvi, her feet several inches above the ground and still struggling to go after Johnson.

The clip jumped forward several minutes to show Ginny and Mike walking towards the dugout, her eye already swelling and Mike’s knuckles bloody. When she slowed to look over her shoulder at the players remaining on the field, Lawson immediately moved beside her and blocked her view. He said something to her and she nodded once, turning around and following him into the dugout without further comment.

Ginny scowled as much as her swollen bruises allowed. “Wait a minute. Why are you in here with us Livan? I didn’t see you get ejected.”

Lawson snorted. “Oh, just wait for it.” She shifted to look back at Livan but he simply tightened his arm around her shoulders to hold her still.

The announcers continued their commentary. “And just when you thought the game would settle down, two innings later backup catcher Livan Duarte is ejected by home plate umpire Joe West. If you look carefully you can see Livan say something to the Yankees catcher Garcia, who responded. We can only assume the umpire objected to what he was hearing. We have no way of knowing what was said unless one of the three men tell us, but whatever West said must have been a doozy because Duarte was in his face instantly.”

“Now, Joe West has earned a reputation during his forty years as an umpire. He’s a talented ball/strike caller but he’s a man not afraid to cause controversy. He has thrown out more players than any other umpire in the history of the game. And if you remember, he was actually suspended for three games by MLB for his behavior in an incident in 2017.”

“You can see West ejected Livan almost immediately, but Duarte got his money’s worth on the ejection, staying several minutes longer to argue until he had to be physically restrained by manager Al Luongo after shoving the umpire away from himself. We should note that Joe West did seem to make contact with our catcher first.”

“And because of that, we now have starting shortstop Sam Hinkley serving as catcher for the Padres. He’s done surprisingly well, but we anticipate the Padres calling up the AAA catchers tonight to cover what will undoubtedly be a suspension for both Mike Lawson and Livan Duarte.”

“What did he say,” Ginny asked Livan.

He carefully moved out from behind her and returned to the adjacent trainer’s table. “Nothing. He’s an asshole.”

Lawson turned on him. “He’s always been an asshole. But because you let your ego get ahead of your minimal common sense, he’s now going to take it out on our pitchers. They won’t get another close call from him for the rest of the season. What was so damn important that you had to get yourself not only ejected but suspended because you know damn well that a suspension is coming.”

Ginny tensed in anticipation of having to jump between the two men again, but instead of the fierce argument she expected from Livan, he pushed off the table and headed towards the door. “It needed to be done Lawson. Leave it at that.”

“Why,” she called out to him, ignoring the stabbing pain in her head that it caused. “What did he say?”

The Cuban’s back tensed but he refused to turn around. “Nothing. He’s just an asshole and I got sick of his bad calls.”

Ginny had a sick feeling in her stomach. “Was it something to do with me?” Livan’s silence was answer enough.

She pushed off the table and approached him. “Tell me. I need to know so I know how to fight it.”

He whirled on her with surprising anger. “It wasn’t just about you okay? I’m telling you to drop it.”

“Tell me. Now.” Mike’s voice cracked like a whip, the intensity and volume surprising both Ginny and Livan.

With a shake of his head, Livan relented. “He said that if Ginny wanted to play with men, she’d have to learn to take her hits like a man. He could have issued warnings to both sides before the game even started but he didn’t because he said that she was going to have to settle the issue like players have for the last one hundred years and if she was,” he paused to shoot Ginny an uncharacteristically hesitant glance, “if she was too pussy to do it, then it was what she deserved.”

Livan switched his gaze to Lawson. “And he said that obviously baseball veterans agreed because you could have caught Johnson from behind, but you let him get in a shot before you took him down.”

The silence was deafening in the room. Ginny swallowed hard, struggling to maintain her composure. She never let comments like this bother her; she had heard it too many times in her lifetime to listen. But that it came from an umpire, the equivalent of the judge and jury on the baseball field, was horrifying. There were so many ways this could go badly, not only for her but for the Padres.

“You know that’s bullshit. Both of you know that, right?” Livan’s words were directed at both Ginny and Mike, but his cocky grin was aimed directly at his captain. “I mean, I had no idea an old man could run like that. If you ran that fast down the base path every game, I’d be a little more concerned about my position as the best player on the Padres.”

Mike snorted in derision. “Duarte, I could walk backwards on the base path and still be more valuable than you. And I wish you hadn’t told Baker about that crap. Now every time Joe is behind the plate when she pitches I’m going to have to purposely foul one off of his mask or, even worse, ‘accidentally’ let one go past me to hit him. I’m not sure I can allow a passed ball, even for you Baker.”

Ginny laughed, the tightness in her chest vanishing. “Lawson, you can pretend it’s on purpose as much as you want, but we all know you struggle to catch my screwball. And now that I’m a flamethrower… well, good luck.”

Livan laughed at Mike’s groan. “God, I’m going to miss your lollipop fastballs if it means you’re going to end up with an ego as big as Duarte’s.”

“Hey, better an egomaniac like him than a narcissist like you,” Ginny countered. But then she laughed a little too hard, which made her back muscles spasm in protest. That made her grimace, and that simple motion caused her face throb even more. She managed to stifle her gasp because the last thing she wanted was for the guys to see her hurting.

“Baker.” Of course. Of course he would notice. “Talk to me, rookie.”

“Mami, is it your face or your head?” For once, the men were a united front, both staring her down and expecting answers.

“Both. My face hurts like hell, but my head is the worst. This headache is horrible.”

It’s astonishing how all catchers possess the ability to read minds. Without saying a word to each other, Mike was out the door yelling for Ed and Livan had her flat on the table with icepacks on her face before she could object.

Not that objecting did her any good. She repeatedly objected during the next hour to no avail. She had her face X-rayed, her body examined head to toe, and concussion testing performed by not one, but two different doctors. And after the confirmation of no broken bones, but a slight concussion and big bruises, she managed to get someone to listen.

“Don’t you _dare_ release the concussion information to the media,” she told Oscar. She really had no business trying to tell the GM anything, especially after the PR nightmare that she had brought down on the organization, but damn it, this was important. “The last thing I need is for everyone to know that I have more than bruises. Do you know what the world will say if it comes out that I got a stupid, tiny, barely-there concussion from a fight on the field?”

“They’ll say all you got was a black eye and a headache while Johnson got a broken nose, two black eyes and bruised ribs.”

 Ginny’s jaw dropped in shock. “So I kicked his ass?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” Oscar hedged.

“Hell yes, you kicked his ass,” Livan called out from across the clubhouse.

Oscar gave Ginny an awkward pat on the shoulder before crossing the room. “Livan, just who I needed to talk to. Let’s have a quick conversation in Al’s office.”

“I still need to shower,” Livan told him. “I’ll meet you when I’m done.”

“You’ll meet me now.”

“That’s perfect because Baker and I were going to have a meeting right here,” Mike interjected.

Ginny and Livan shared a commiserating look before they parted ways.

Lawson barely waited for the door to close before starting. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I didn’t want to be on the DL again.”

“You sure have a funny way of showing it. You did everything in your power to show up Johnson. You stole second…”

“Which was brilliant,” Ginny put in.

“Do. Not. Interrupt.” Mike’s tone was as sharp as she had ever heard. Of course she wanted to tell him to shove it, but he was the team captain, _her_ captain, and he deserved the respect of being listened to.

“You stole second base. You quick-pitched him. Then you struck him out.  And just to top it all off, you laughed at him when you struck him out. There was no way an asshole like Johnson would let that go. Two years ago he broke your ribs to prove a point. Didn’t you think he would do so again?” Mike’s voice had risen during his speech until he was yelling at her.

Ginny studied him. “So what would you have rather I done,” she asked carefully.

“Hit him.”

Ginny’s eyebrows rose as much as they could with the swelling. “You wanted me to bean him?”

“Hell yes I wanted you to bean him. Especially since West hadn’t issued warnings yet. You wouldn’t have been ejected, but the Yankees would have been forced to pull Johnson, either because he’s injured or because they can’t risk him causing a war when he pitched at the top of the next inning. It would have eliminated the problem.”

“But he still could have charged me. In fact, he probably would have.”

Mike sighed. He put one hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other, briefly closing his eyes as he tried to rein in his temper. “He wouldn’t have been able to charge you if you pegged him anywhere except his ass. You can’t run if your ankle’s been broken by a fast ball or if you’re trying to decide if your head is still attached to your neck after a hit on the helmet.”

Ginny considered his words carefully. “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she admitted. And because Mike knew her, he knew how much that cost her to admit. Ginny Baker didn’t like to acknowledge that there might be even one iota of the game that she didn’t thoroughly understand.

“And even if he did charge the mound, your old catcher might have stood a chance tackling him before he could get to you.”

And then Ginny understood. Mike was livid because she had put the team in a bad spot and because she risked getting injured in the fight. But he was upset by the fact that he couldn’t prevent Johnson from getting to her.

“There’s no catcher on the planet that could have caught up with Chad before he got to the mound. When we were in Indiana he was the fastest guy on the team. Even now I bet he could outrun the entire Yankees team with maybe one or two exceptions.” Lawson was still scowling at her, so she tried a different tactic. “You know what might have worked? A taser. Think of how much happier we would all be if you kept a taser in your back pocket. Every time a batter stops to admire his homerun, you can zap him in the ass. And if you got one of the kind that shoot their probes fifteen feet away, you wouldn’t even have to leave your stance to shock the stupid out of someone.” 

She paused to tap her chin and tried to look thoughtful. “Or I could hold it for you, just to help you out. I certainly wouldn’t use it on anyone; well, unless they really, really deserved it. You know, I really can’t see a downside to that.”

A laugh escaped Lawson despite his terrible mood. “There is no possible way that scenario would end well.”

A tentative knock pulled their attention to the door and in response to Mike’s shout the door swung open. Tyler, the 12-year-old son of a reliever, tentatively entered the room. He was one of the team’s batboys and his position for the game was in the visiting team’s dugout. No team traveled with their batboys, so the visitors supplied the jersey and the home team supplied the body to go in it. The Padres were fortunate to have four batboys, so each kid only had to work, at most, one night a series in the away club.

“Ms. Baker, I was asked to deliver this to you.” He held out his arm and gingerly dropped the delivery in her hands.

Ginny stared at the green leaves. “Why did someone want me to have a cabbage?”

“Tyrone Marshall said his grandma swore that wrapping cabbage leaves around an injury prevented swelling and bruising. He said to make sure to break the spines of the leaf before you put it on the bruises. And he said that if you didn’t do it, you’d be disrespecting his grandma.” The boy toyed with the bottom of his borrowed jersey. “You’re not going to disrespect his grandma, are you Ms. Baker?”

Out of the corner of her eye he saw Mike suddenly stare at his shoes with intense concentration, his face turning bright red. Anyone who knew him knew he was fighting the urge to laugh. Tyler was sincere in his concern and she loved that Mike was trying to protect the kid’s feelings.

“I’d never disrespect someone’s grandma. Please tell Tyrone thank you and that I promise to use it.” The boy beamed at her and strode to the door with a swagger that looked suspiciously like Livan’s, his faith in his dad’s team restored.

“And Tyler, you don’t have to call me Ms. Baker. You can call me Ginny,” she called after him.

“Yes ma’am, Ms. Ginny,” he responded as he dashed off to deliver the message.

“You can just smell the Texas on that boy,” she muttered.

Mike’s booming laugh filled the entire clubhouse.

 

                                                                                                     *****************************

“Mami, there’s a woman named Evelyn texting me saying that she’s going to sign you up for every male escort service in southern California if you don’t call her in the next three minutes.” Livan glared at his phone and then at Ginny, his mood every bit as black as Mike’s had been. “Who is she and why does she have my number?”

Ginny nearly tore the zippers off her backpack as she scrambled to find which pocket held her phone. “She’s married to Blip and I have no idea how she got it. She has superpowers.”

Ginny found her phone in the very bottom of her bag and frantically texted Evelyn. Ginny’s phone immediately rang, but she silenced it. As much as Ginny hated to admit it, even talking was beginning to be painful, so Evelyn would have to resign herself to texts. She was so focused on responding to Ev’s bombardment of messages that she didn’t notice Lawson come up behind her and look over her shoulder.

“You might as well just accept it. You’ll be staying at the Sanders’ house tonight.”

Ginny sighed but didn’t disagree. “After we’re done with all the press crap,” she began.

“You don’t have to talk to them. I’ve been ordered to leave immediately before they can find me and I’m supposed to take you with,” Livan told her. For a guy that was notorious for hating to talk to reporters, he sure sounded pissed off.

“Oscar said we didn’t have to talk to the press,” Ginny asked in amazement. Without a second’s hesitation, she picked up her bag and moved to the clubhouse entrance, not wanting to stick around in case Oscar changed his mind. She’d have to deal with the fallout and the press soon, but she just wasn’t up to dealing with them tonight.

Livan caught up with her and shoved into the hallway before the clubhouse door closed behind her.

“I’ll drive you.”

“I’m not sure I want to get in the car with you if you’re in such a bad mood. I might be stuck in your car while you’re doing 110 through La Jolla.”

“You can either take your chances with me or risk having your Uber driver post pictures of you all over the internet.” When Ginny paused to consider it, Livan swore under his breath. He yanked open the passenger seat door and tossed his bag in the back seat. “Get in.”

She thought about objecting, she really did, but it would be childish to argue when she did need a ride to Evelyn and Blip’s home. She gingerly sank into the blissfully comfortable seats, grateful that she was in his luxury car, not a foreign import with seats that felt like boards.

“Enter the address into my gps while I get us the hell out of here.”

It only took her a minute to enter the Sanders’ address because she knew it by heart. Livan slammed his door loud enough that it made her head throb and she leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

The rode in silence, each lost in their thoughts. She shifted to ease the soreness of her body, ending up curled sideways in the seat.

“Go to sleep. We won’t be there for another twenty minutes. I’ll wake you when we’re close.”

Ginny was so tired she couldn’t even respond. She let herself sink into sleep, a faint smile on her lips as she dreamed about punching Chad Johnson in the nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never let it be said that I can easily say no. Enough people reached out to request a follow up chapter that I began to seriously consider it. I actually like this story (not always the case with my writings) and my biggest fear is that I ruined a good story with a terrible sequel, so I'm sitting here crossing my fingers and hoping that this is not the case for this chapter. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> And yes, I did up the count to 3 chapters.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'd love to read any comments you have for me. A lot of time and thought went into this one, so let me know if you like it.


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